Saving Stiles
by The Typewriter Girl
Summary: The Nogitsune is draining Stiles of his strength. Will Derek and Scott be able to find the demon in time to save their weakening friend? Stiles whump and bromance to the max! Sterek too if you squint ;)
1. Chapter 1

Hey fellow Fanfiction-lovers! :) I am new to the fanfic-writing world and this is my first story. Check back soon, new chapters are on the way! Love, The Typewriter Girl.

* * *

"Then what do you think we should do?"

Scott and Derek stood across from each other in the McCall house, shoulders tensed and cold stares locked under furrowed brows. Two hours ago, Stiles had emerged from the Nogitsune in a soiled heap of cloth, blinking owlishly at them all with terrified, dark-rimmed eyes. The commotion that ensued was a blur of wide-eyed stares, frantic conversations, and Stiles's increasingly labored breathing as he fought to keep a panic attack at bay. Scott felt rooted to the spot as he watched the scene unfold, processing the terror of what had just happened until he snapped out of it, racing to his best friend's side.

_"Stiles, Stiles look at me... You're okay now. You're safe!"_

_Stiles's quaking hands fumbled for purchase on his friend, his desperate cinnamon eyes fearfully meeting Scott's hazel ones. The werewolf knelt on shaking knees before him as he quickly tried to process the absurdity -the horror- of what had just happened. Willing himself to maintain composure, Scott gently squeezed his friend's shoulders, giving him an anchor._

_"I'm here, Stiles. I'm here, you're okay..."_

_Stiles wet his lips, tounge dashing over the chapped surfaces as he weakly grasped Scott's arm._

_"Scott..." He swallowed dryly, adam's apple bobbing up and down on his pale neck. "Am I... What happened?"_

_Scott returned his best friend's horrified, wide-eyed gaze with what he hoped was a reassuring one._

_"I don't know, Stiles... But were going to find out."_

And now Scott stood across from Derek with narrowed eyes and clenched fists, challenging him to say what everyone suspected was the solution to getting rid of the Nogitsune for good.

Derek met Scott's gaze with intense emerald eyes full of steel and... _Was that fear?_

"I don't know!" Derek snarled. _"Forgive_ me for not knowing how to proceed when a hyperactive idiot is vomited up out of their own doppelganger!"

"Um, right here!" Protested Stiles, shooting Derek a half-effort glare.

They had spent the past hour arguing over what to do next. The Nogitsune had disappeared and the rest of the pack had left, uneasy and unwilling to be around Stiles, who was currently watching the two alphas from the couch through tired eyes.

Scott let out a sigh and looked at Stiles, the tiniest glimmer of affection pushing through the churning sea of exhaustion, desperation and fear in his chest.

"Deaton's here," he said, passing his best friend to go open the front door. _Has stiles always been that pale?_

"How do you... Oh. Werewolf hearing," remarked Stiles, sinking back into the couch with a sigh.

* * *

"Take a deep breath for me?"

Deaton pressed a cold stethoscope against Stiles's back as the teenager inhaled, chest rising steadily beneath his navy shirt. The two were positioned on the couch; Scott sat next to Stiles on the edge of an armchair, and Derek stood off behind the kitchen counter, brooding (but watching intently) from afar.

"Well," Deaton breathed as he straightened up. "Everything seems to be in order right now, aside from the low blood pressure... But one doesn't get out from a Nogitsune that easy." He began packing up his equipment, glancing up briefly at Stiles with sad eyes.

"What do you mean?" Asked Stiles, eyebrows knitting together anxiously. He met the vet's expression with wide, worried eyes framed by tense creases.

Deaton eyed him wearily. "The Nogitsune is still connected to you, Stiles. He draws his energy from you, meaning the longer he's around, the weaker you become. You may get more tired, experience dizzy spells... I suggest you take it easy the next couple days."

"But what about _after_ the next couple days?" Asked Scott as he leaned forward, silently begging him not to reply with the answer he feared.

The doctor paused and met Scott with serious eyes.

"You better fix it before then."

Stiles stiffened. The silence was deafening.

Scott glanced at Stiles, eyes drinking in the form of his skinny friend.

"We will," he said. He wasn't sure if he said it to reassure Stiles or himself.

"For now, I recommend you boys get some rest," said Deaton, standing up to leave.

Scott glanced at his watch; it was 11:00pm. He didn't realize how exhausted he was until now. Suddenly he felt the weight of everything that had happened that day latch onto his bones and hang like lead weights, making him want to sink into the earth and away from all the fears plaguing his reality. He looked protectively at Stiles again, who was staring straight ahead at something beyond perception, quivering slightly. He imagined his friend probably felt ten times worse.

"Thanks, Deaton," he said. He stood up to walk him out, a puzzled expression passing over his face when he noticed Derek was missing from his spot behind the counter. After bidding the doctor good night, Scott walked back into the living room and found stiles sitting in the same position he had left him in. The teen hadn't moved a muscle.

"Stiles?"

Scott softly called his friend's name with the gentleness of a white moth as he walked over and sank into the couch next to him. He rested a hand on Stiles's shoulder and brushed over the soft fabric of his jacket with his thumb, as if somehow that small movement could erase all the pain of the past twenty-four hours.

"I'm scared, Scott."

Scott watched as Stiles's exhausted eyes glimmered with the threat of fresh tears, but didn't see them spill over because he looked away. The alpha was afraid that witnessing the first one fall would trigger a sob of his own that would never stop.

"Me too, buddy."

Stiles pressed his lips together. "Couldn't you just tell me that you know everything will be okay? Like a... Wolf instinct thing?"

Scott's eyes crinkled at the edges.

"Sure, Stiles. My wolf instinct is telling me that everything will be just fine. You'll be back to your hyperactive, idiotic self in no time."

Stiles let out a huffed snort. "Don't be like sourwolf now."

Scott grinned and stole a glance at his best friend, which happened to be the same moment Stiles chose to steal a glance at him. Scott snorted as Stiles giggled, which triggered a fit of hysterical laughter between the two boys. They collapsed back into the couch and against each other as they let go for that short minute. Maybe it was triggered by exhaustion, or by the fact that they hadn't eaten since lunch, but most likely it was the desperate need for normalcy after everything that had happened. To laugh like they did as carefree kids, before the teenage-mutant ninja wolves thing. Before the responsibility. _Before the brutality._

When the cackling subsided to small sniffles and panting, Scott wrapped an arm around his best friend's shoulders and rested his head in the crook of Stiles's neck.

"Let's go to bed."

"Kay."

"Are you okay to sleep by yourself?"

"..."

"...Stiles?"

"Can I camp out on the floor in your room?"

"You take the bed. I'll take the floor."

"Dude, I'm not taking your-"

"The Nogitsune vomited you out, Stiles. _Vomited_. You're taking the bed."

"...Kay."

* * *

Derek panted hard as he dashed through the woods, bounding over fallen trees and swatting branches aside as he willed his legs to take him far away from the McCall house. He wasn't even entirely sure why he was running, but what he did know was that he needed to get _out_ of there. The look on Stiles's face, so terrified and fragile, landed a heavy blow to Derek's chest, more than he would ever admit to Scott or the others. And now he was sprinting, desperate to get up and _do something_ because Stilinski and his stupid face was in trouble...

_You better fix it before then._

Deaton's words echoed in his head.

Suddenly his foot snagged on a gnarled tree root and Derek was flying forward, landing hard in the dirt-covered forest floor with a frustrated grunt. He pushed himself on his knees and flopped over onto his back, staring up at the dark canopy above him as his chest heaved.

He would call Scott in the morning and regroup. There was nothing he could do right now, alone and without any leads on where the Nogitsune could possibly be. Turning his head, he noticed that he was at the foot of a large, moss-covered tree. Derek scooted up and repositioned himself so his head rested in the crook of his arm, knees pulled up to his chest. The nice thing about being part-wolf was that camping in the woods without any gear was just as comfy as a human bed. He considered that second option as he closed his eyes, but he needed some time away from reality right now.

He fell asleep thinking about a hyperactive idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

Scott awoke to a stiff back and a stream of sunlight stabbing him in the eyeball. He rolled over and blinked groggily, momentarily confused as to why he was on the floor before he registered the soft snoring coming from the bundle of covers on his bed.

___Oh._

Quietly as he could, he wiggled out of his sleeping bag and tiptoed into the hallway, softly shutting the door behind him. His mom had left to visit his aunt the previous afternoon, leaving him with the house to himself for the weekend. ___Good timing_, he thought.

Padding into the kitchen, he sought out the box of pop tarts in the cupboard and started unwrapping one, trying not to think about what could potentially be in store for the figure asleep in his bed. Scott sighed as he turned towards the toaster, but froze as an icy tingling bloomed in his gut: _instinct._ He immediately tuned into his hearing, the pins and needles in his gut intensifying as he realized something was approaching the house. Something that wasn't the mailman or a solicitor. Something... ___Hungry._ That was the word to describe the sense he got from the way his hairs stood up.

___Nogitsune,_ he thought.

He tensed and crept to the doorframe. _If he could just get to the hallway he could see outside the-_

Scott jumped, thoughts scattering as the front doorknob rattled; ___locked._ But then his eyes went wide as he heard the unmistakable crunch of the brass knob as it was crushed.

Heart beating wildly, Scott dove behind the counter and braced himself as he heard the front door bang open and the thing tread into his house, down the hallway and towards the kitchen, where he was currently crouched. Trying to keep his breathing under control, Scott prepared himself to transform. He had to protect Stiles. ___He would wait until it got to the doorframe, then he would jump out and fight._ The sounds grew closer. ___Three, two..._

___One._

With a half human, half-wolf roar, Scott leapt over the counter and landed in front of the intruder, freezing in place with a look of horror as he realized he was facing Derek Hale. He then realized that he was still holding his pop-tart, which was held out defensively two inches from Derek's nose.

"What were you trying to do, _strawberry_ me to death?"

Scott threw the pop-tart down and snarled at the alpha, eyes turning to angry slits.

"Dude, what the _hell!_ You scared the crap out of me- and you _broke_ my _doorknob!"_

"It was locked."

Scott seethed as Derek reached into the box of pop tarts, pulled one out, and tore open the package with his teeth.

"Oh, okay. So you just _break_ into my _house!?_ You could have _called_!"

The alpha dropped the pastry into the toaster and pushed it down.

"I did, six times. You didn't answer."

"What? No you..."

Scott trailed off as he read the clock on the kitchen stove: 12:05pm. ___Did he sleep through them all?_

"I thought something was wrong when you didn't pick up, so I came over."

"Aw, sourwolf does care."

The two alphas looked up to see a lanky figure leaning on the frame of the doorway, looking much paler than he did the previous night.

"Don't get any ideas, Stilinski," growled Derek. "I couldn't just let a free snack go to waste."

Stiles rubbed his eyes and unsteadily stepped into the kitchen, teetering on his bare feet.

"Pop one in for me too, eh, sourwolf? Think of it as an apology for waking me up with all your high-decibel wolf-antics."

Scott and Derek watched silently as Stiles shuffled over to the kitchen table and sat down, placing a hand on the chair to steady himself. He moved slowly, as if his joints were stiff and painful. In addition, the circles under his eyes seemed darker despite the number of hours he slept, and his pallor was drained.

"Sorry, Stilinski. That was the last one."

Stiles muttered a small grumble of protest as he rubbed his eyes again. Derek glanced at the teen for a split second before he leaned forward against the counter closer to Scott, who was still scowling at him for killing the doorknob.

"The Nogitsune is still missing," said Derek quietly, expression serious. "We need to track it down and get rid of it..." He lowered his voice. _"Soon."_ He glanced at Stiles, whose head was resting on the table, arm over his eyes.

"Alright then, let's meet with the pack and..." Scott stopped as Derek pursed his lips and looked down.

"What's wrong?"

Derek flicked his gaze up to meet Scott's, his scowl deepening.

"I met with the others this morning," He muttered bitterly, lowering his gaze. "They want nothing do with the Nogitsune... They don't trust that Stiles is really Stiles."

Scott stared at Derek, mouth agape.

___"What."_

Derek could almost taste the venom lacing Scott's words.

"They won't help, Scott... It's up to_ us."_

Scott clenched his teeth together. ___Those bastards._

The sound of the toaster popping up rang out in the background, and Derek slowly swung around to grab his snack, eyes not leaving Scott's face until the last moment. He placed the pop-tart on a plate and carried it to over to kitchen table.

Stiles heard something clank by his ear and lifted his head to investigate, finding himself eye-level with a strawberry pop-tart.

"Eat. You look like you need it."

Stiles looked up and nearly fell out of his chair when his gaze led him to the stubbly face of Derek Hale. But before he could utter a sassy remark (or a stuttered thank-you), the werewolf had already turned away and was walking towards the door.

"Let's regroup at four," said Derek as he passed Scott. "By then I should have some information gathered from Peter."

Scott jumped up and followed Derek close at the heels as the alpha reached the front entrance of the house.

"And what are _we_ supposed to do, just sit around until then?" Demanded Scott, eyes scanning the alpha's face defensively. Derek paused and turned to face him.

"No, _Stiles_ will sit around until then._ You_ will look after him."

And with that said, Derek spun around and treaded down the walkway, sun glistening off his leather jacket. Scott briefly mused over how the image looked like something out of _The Sopranos_ before turning back inside the house, frowning at the newly-condensed doorknob before quietly shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Scott was leaning against the wall silently observing his best friend. Stiles was currently sitting on the couch, trying to read a book for his English course; he was insistent on finishing it before Monday's class. When the werewolf had commented on this uncharacteristic decision earlier, Stiles had simply given him a look and resumed reading. Scott knew what it meant.

Stiles hadn't made much progress the past hour; Scott could tell he was tiring. Stiles had grown worse since noon, which had made the mounting fear in the alpha's chest intensify. Now the teen was slumped into the couch holding up his copy of ___Othello_, which shook slightly in his hands. Every so often his head would tip forward slightly and Stiles would snap it up again with a frustrated breath.

"You should take a break."

There was a slight pause before Stiles threw the book across the room, where it hit the TV and flopped to the ground in a flutter of yellowed pages.

"Yes please."

Stiles pushed himself up and sat forward, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked exhausted. Scott unfolded his arms and walked over to his friend.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Stiles, blinking rapidly. "Just tired."

Scott looked at his friend in concern.

"You should eat something."

"No thanks," muttered Stiles, wrinkling his nose. "But I do need to take a leak."

Stiles stood up and immediately tipped to the side, grunting as he half-fell onto a startled Scott. The werewolf's concern spiked as Stiles straightened up.

"Whoa, Stiles!" He exclaimed, eyebrows creasing in concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Stiles swallowed and let go of Scott.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just lost my balance for a second."

Scott watched with worried eyes as his friend teetered down the hallway to the bathroom.

* * *

After that, Stiles took a nap in Scott's room. He was still sleeping when Derek arrived at 4:12pm, at which point Scott went to rouse him. The alpha felt a touch of unease in his stomach when Stiles had a hard time waking up, too exhausted to open his eyes at first.

"He said that the Nogitsune will reappear if Stiles commands it," said Derek.

The three stood in the living room, going over what Derek had got from his uncle.

"___Commands_ it?" Asked Scott incredulously.

"Yes. They are connected on a supernatural level; as it's host, Stiles is like the Nogitsune's anchor. He can call it back at will."

"But what if I don't ___want_ to call it back?"

The two alphas turned towards the strained voice. Stiles was standing unsteadily beside them, looking downright ill.

"You're going to have to," replied Derek with deadly serious eyes. "If you don't want to die, you _need_ to summon it so Scott and I can kill him."

"Derek." Hissed Scott, eyes flashing defensively at him.

"There's no use ignoring it, Scott. That's what's going to happen if we stand here and do nothing," he challenged.

Scott seethed.

"Oh, because Derek Hale is the master of taking action when action is needed?" He stepped toward him defiantly. "Like how _you_ stepped up to the plate when Cora needed you?"

"Don't you ___dare_ mention her name!" Snarled Derek.

"Why not, Derek? Too afraid to face the fact that you abandoned your own sister-"

"___Shut up!_"

"-the same way you leave anyone else who needs your help because you're too busy being the jerk _asshole_ named Derek Hale!" Scott huffed and narrowed his gaze. "Is ___that_ why?"

But Derek wasn't listening anymore; he was looking at Stiles, who had turned a shade paler and was swaying slightly, his eyes half-lidded.

"Scott," he warned.

Scott whirled around just in time to see Stiles open his mouth and try to say something, but all that escaped was a soft, barely-audible "unghh" before his knees gave out and he fell forward.

"Stiles!"

Scott jumped forward and caught him under the arms, his cry of alarm slipping out between his lips as he did so.

Stiles, whose head had fallen against his chest, lifted it up with tremendous effort to meet Scott's gaze, only to have it loll back when a wave of dizziness crashed over him. The room was spinning and dipping and he was vaguely aware that he didn't feel very well but his limbs were tingly and lead-filled and all he could do was lay limply in Scott's arms as black dots danced in his vision.

Scott stared at Stiles in shock, taking in his haggard appearance, fluttering eyelids, and the slight sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

"Derek, help me!" He barked, not doing a very good job of masking his terror.

But the scruffy werewolf was already behind Stiles, hands gently wrapping around the teen's skinny waist as he helped Scott lower him to the ground. Stiles's eyes were unfocused and glazed-over on the way down, but once Derek gently slid his hand out from underneath his head to set it on the hardwood floor, they rolled back into their sockets and his head flopped limply to the side.

"Shit, Stiles! What's wrong with him?" Scott crouched over stiles with a forehead etched with crinkles, one hand gently cupping the pale cheek of his best friend, the other shaking slightly as it gingerly pressed on his forehead, checking for a fever.

Derek stood, piercing eyes scanning the still form on the ground, gangly limbs awkwardly splayed in a strangely beautiful way, as if stiles had simply fell asleep on a hot day. They took in his face, even paler in pallor than Stiles's usual pasty complexion, the dark lashes resting on bruised circles, and the curved lines of his slightly agape mouth. It was strange to see the jumpy, mile-a-minute smart-alick so still. So... ___Lifeless._

"Deaton said the Nogitsune was draining him, Scott. It probably just caught up to him and he passed out."

Derek's eyes remained locked on Stiles's face, but his ears picked up the nervous spike in Scott's pulse.

"Stiles? Come on, buddy. Wake up."

Scott gently cupped both his hands around Stiles's face, turning his head so that it faced the ceiling and started tapping on his cheeks. Not so much as a single eyelash flutter. Stiles was dead to the world.

Scott stayed there a moment, hands frozen on his best friend's face as his ears picked up Stiles's heartbeat. He let out a breath. ___Still Alive,_ he thought. ___He's just unconscious._

Scott swiveled around and looked up at Derek, who was still standing behind him. The werewolf's gaze was glued to Stiles's still form, but he tore it away to meet Scott's gaze once he sensed the movement. It did not go unnoticed. He reminded Scott of a tall, brooding watchdog. Although right now... Derek didn't seem all that brooding. There was that same glint of concern in his eyes that Scott had noticed last night.

___No_, he thought. Derek thought Stiles was the most annoying kid around. He was constantly threatening to tear his throat out and calling him names, and glared at him more than any other...

The end of Scott's lip was tugged into a small smile. ___Of course._

"What are you looking at!"

Derek's sharp retort was almost enough to kill his smirk.

"Nothing," Scott said, shaking his head. He looked back at Stiles and his smile fell. "We should move him to the couch."


	3. Chapter 3

But just then, Stiles stirred slightly. The fingers of his left hand twitched as he drew in a breath, his eyebrows knitting together a fraction.

"Stiles?" Scott's pulse picked up again as he placed his hand on his friend's cheek once more in an attempt to rouse him. Derek crouched down to the alpha's left and eyed Stiles wearily. The figure on the ground let out soft whimper as he rolled his head towards them and struggled to open his eyes.

"Sc'tt?" He slurred. "What happ'nd?"

"You passed out," answered Scott, giving his friend a tiny, concerned smile.

"Oh... That's not good, is it?" Stiles blinked and looked at his friend with tired eyes.

Scott's smile deflated. "No... It's not."

With effort, Stiles shifted his unfocused gaze to Scott's left, noticing Derek was there. He then tried to turn over onto his stomach so he could push himself up, without much success. Scott and Derek immediately took hold of his arms and helped him sit up against the wall. Stiles took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, head resting against the smooth enamel behind him.

"Stiles?" Scott said anxiously.

"I'm good," Stiles breathed. "...Dizzy." He lifted his head and stared at the werewolves through droopy eyes, tiny lines creasing his brow. "You said I need to summon evil me?

Derek and Scott exchanged glances.

"According to Peter, you just need to ask for it verbally by name," replied Derek cautiously, eyes darting over the teen's pale face.

"Mm. And just how do you plan on killing it?" Asked Stiles. There was a moment of silence. Scott turned to Derek, who sighed.

"There are two options," said the alpha, glancing down. "We bite it..." He turned to look at Stiles, a sadness creeping into his eyes. "...Or we kill you."

Stiles paled slightly. He swallowed and lowered his gaze, pressing his lips together. He nodded.

"But we're going to bite it," finished Derek. He used a hand to gently tip up Stiles's chin so that the boy met his emerald gaze. In it Stiles saw unwavering strength and reassurance to a degree only Derek Hale could provide. He had never been this close to Derek before, at least when the werewolf wasn't shoving him against a wall and growling some overly-dramatic threat at him. It made Stiles feel... He didn't know how it made him feel. Before he could decide, Derek pulled his hand away, looking a tad embarassed. Scott mused. He had never seen the usually cold, stand-offish werewolf touch anybody so..._ Gently_ before.

"So what, when it comes we just ask it nicely to hold out an arm so we can take a taste?" Asked Scott, looking quizzically at Derek. The werewolf turned to face him, eyes glinting.

"When it comes, one of us will distract it. The other will wait for the right opportunity to strike."

Scott nodded. "And if he has swords...?"

"Don't get stabbed," Derek concurred.

"Guys, you don't have to do this... I don't want you to get killed," said Stiles, jerking his anxious gaze back and forth between the two faces in front of him.

Scott took hold of Stiles's hand. "Stiles... You're my best friend. We don't want to lose you either. We're _going_ to save you."

Stiles took in every line of Scott's face, the face tied to so many memories. He had a sense of pride for Scott; the cool, levelheaded guy all the girls pined after, who always suck by his side, now matter how awkward and wimpy he was. He took a few moments just to wallow in his affections.

"Aw, shucks," he said, looked down with a tiny Smile. Scott noted how there was a touch of sadness to it.

"Help me up."

Derek and Scott exchanged a glance.

"In case you forgot, you just _collapsed,_ stupid. Standing up is a ticket to doing it again," said Derek, his signature scowl returning to his face.

"I need to summon the Nogitsune before I get worse... I mean. If you're ready, that is," said Stiles, his voice wavering a bit at the end. He lifted his head and stared down the two werewolves facing him. Derek and Scott exchanged another glance before nodding.

"Good," said Stiles. He hoped the werewolves didn't catch the scared crack in his voice. "Help me up," he said again, reaching out his hands.

Scott and Derek hooked their arms on either side of Stiles and gently pulled him up into a standing position. He swayed a bit at first, tightening his grip on the two of them, but then steadied himself, determination burning in his eyes. He let go and took a few steps forward to stand by himself.

"Alright... We ready?" He asked, peeking back at the two of them over his shoulder. Scott observed the thin figure in front of him. The same figure that had been sprawled lifelessly on his living room floor less than ten minutes ago... He couldn't bear the thought of losing his friend for real.

"Do it."

Stiles took a breath to compose himself, casting one more look at the pair behind him before straightening his composure into what he hoped was a brave stance.

"Nogitsune... I command your presence."

All was still and silent. The trio tensed as several seconds went by without a single movement. They nervously scanned the room, waiting for something to happen to no avail. But just as Stiles was about to repeat the phrase, a chill swept across the room. It settled into every crack, making the hairs on their arms stand up; to Derek and Scott, it smelled like death. The lights flickered and the three of them tensed, flinching and shielding their eyes when the fixtures blew out in a shatter of glass. Suddenly the windows burst open as a gale-force wind invaded the room, whipping up papers and small objects and scattering them about, knocking things over in the process.

And then the Nogitsune materialized in front of Stiles in a plume of inky black smoke.

Derek and Scott growled instinctively. Stiles stood his ground, facing his mirror image with the bravest expression he could muster. A sickening smile crept across the Nogitsune's face.

"So you think you can just summon me here and _kill_ me_?_"

The voice sent chills throughout the three boys. A sense of unease settled into their bones, twisting their stomachs into icy knots. The Nogitsune laughed. A sick, maniacal laugh that shattered Stiles's masked expression and sent shockwaves through Scott and Derek.

"You've just brought me to my little snack," he said. Without warning, he lunged at Stiles in a flash, twisting him around and gripping his shoulders with supernatural strength. Stiles yelped as Derek and Scott immediately lunged forward with terrifying roars, fangs bared and claws outstretched towards the demon. But before they could get close enough to strike, the Nogitsune jerked Stiles in front of him, using the teen's struggling body as a human shield. Derek and Scott skittered to a halt, eyes wide and panting as they froze in place, shoulders tensed.

"Uh, uh, uh," said the demon menacingly, wagging it's finger at them. It's dark eyes glittered. "Don't want to risk ripping his throat out, now, _do_ you?"

The werewolves remained rooted to the spot, eyes darting between the twisted face of the Nogitsune and Stiles, who was trying fruitlessly to get out of it's tight grip. The demon had one arm wrapped around his neck in a headlock, and then placed the other across Stiles's chest, pressing against his diaphragm. Stiles struggled for air, a terrified expression on his face as he stared at his friends with wide eyes. The Nogistune glanced at his captive with a smirk before turning back to the alphas.

"Make one move and I'll kill him," it said, expression dark and serious.

Derek and Scott didn't shift a muscle. Inside them raged a storm of fury, frustration and terror as they stood powerless before their endangered friend and his doppleganger. The demon grinned maliciously and leaned in next to Stiles's ear. It's breath tickled the side of his face as it whispered,

"This won't hurt a bit."

And then it flung a hand up to Stiles's chest and dug it's fingers into the flesh over his heart. Suddenly Stiles jerked and gasped for air as the Nogitsune arched it's head back and drank in Stiles's energy. It wore an expression of pure ecstasy, as if it was taking a hit on cocaine, only Stiles was his fix.

"Stop! Stop it!" Choked stiles, face scrunched in fear. He thrashed vainly in the vice-like grip of his darker self.

"Stiles!" Screamed Scott, terrified as he watched the Nogitsune drain his best friend's life away from him. Derek was biting down on his tongue to keep his instinct to jump forward at bay. He tasted blood. They looked on in horror as Stiles's thrashing slowly grew weaker. His strained breathing grew shallower as the demon squeezed his chest tighter, fueled by the new intake of energy.

"Scott... Der..." He breathed, eyes unfocused and half-lidded.

But they could only stare on helplessly as Stiles's struggling subsided. He grasped onto the arms of his captor, but slowly the fumbling hands grew slack and fell limply to his sides. Stiles's head lolled against the Nogitsune as he weakly tried to draw in a breath through restricted lungs, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

_"Stop it!"_ Scott screamed, unable to hold it in any longer. He and Derek almost jumped forward when Stiles's knees buckled and he went completely limp, the whites of his eyes disappearing as his eyes closed.

"You're _killing_ him!" Roared Derek, fangs bared and face screwed into an ugly mask of rage.

The Nogitsune took one more long drag before unclenching his hand and removing it from Stiles's chest. He let out a satisfied "ahh" before tipping his head forward and opening it's eyes, piercing them with a gaze filled with gleeful malevolence.

"Why the puppy-eyes, pups? I just got myself a little bite to eat, that's all." The demon smirked, cocking it's head towards Stiles, who dangled limply in the grip of his darker self. "Don't worry, he's not dead or anything..." The demon shot them a look. "..._Yet_."

A cold dread swept through Derek and Scott as that last comment was uttered. The Nogitsune's face contorted into an ugly sneer.

"If you want to kill _me_, you've got to play by _MY_ rules," it spat. "_You_ come find _ME_... Your friend here will know where to look." And with one more bone-chilling, twisted smile, it said,

"See you then, bitches."

And with the snap of it's fingers the Nogitsune vanished in a mass of black smoke, leaving Stiles to crumple to the ground like a rag doll.


	4. Chapter 4

Immediately Scott and Derek raced forward, almost tripping over each other in their haste to reach the still figure lying facedown on the floor. Scott fell to his knees next to his friend as Derek leapt over to the other side of Stiles's body.

"Turn him over," breathed Derek. For once the werewolf didn't bother masking the concern in his voice.

Scott slipped one hand under Stiles's chest and used the other to gingerly push up his shoulder. Derek placed his hands next to Scott's and helped pull the skinny teen over, slipping a palm out from underneath his back once he was flipped. The two werewolves sat in silence a moment as they stared in shock at the lifeless form of their friend.

Stiles's head was turned towards Scott, cheek pressed against the ground. His lips were parted, faint puffs of sweet breath escaping from them in between long intervals. His face was ashen; the contrast between his alabaster skin and dark, tousled hair and eyelashes was oddly breathtaking. His limbs were splayed gracefully around him; his knees slightly bent and turned towards the side, arms delicately outstretched where his friends had gingerly set them down. His fingers gently curled over one sky-facing palm; the other hand rested palm-down, gently grazing the side of his leg.

Scott choked back a sob. Less than 24 hours ago he and Stiles were on the couch in a fit of giggles. _That_ was the Stiles he knew and loved; the one full of sarcastic comments and sass. The one who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut, the one who was so fragile but never wanted others to worry about him. But Stiles _wasn't_ fragile; he was the strongest person Scott knew. And now he laid before him... Vulnerable and _dying._

Derek wondered how the most awkward kid he knew could look so graceful in his current unconscious state. He often insulted Stiles on his appearance, calling him "lopsided" and "stupid-looking," even "ugly" at times. But in truth, Derek thought the kid was beautiful. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to put on a mean front around him, especially since Scott let slip that Stiles was insecure about himself and how he looked. As Derek stared at the helpless form of the teen he secretly had a soft spot for, he wished he could take every insult back.

Scott reached a hand forward and brushed back Stiles's hair from his forehead. He used the other to gently pick up his friend's limp hand and pressed two fingers against his wrist; his pulse was sluggish.

"Stiles," he whispered, eyes pricking with the threat of tears.

"I don't think he's waking up anytime soon," said Derek gently, eyes grazing over the other werewolf sympathetically. "We should move him someplace more comfortable."

Scott sat back on his knees, biting his lip in an effort to contain his emotions. "My bed. Put him in my bed."

Derek gently slipped his strong hands underneath Stiles's limp frame and lifted him up against his chest, bridal-style. Stiles's head rolled back as contact with the hard ground disappeared, milky neck stretched and exposed. One arm folded in the crook between his and Derek's chest, the other dangled limply as the alpha stood up. With Scott trailing behind him, Derek made his way down the hall to Scott's bedroom, careful not to knock Stiles's head on any walls. Every other step the teen's limp hand brushed against Derek's thigh. Normally Derek would rip someone's throat out for doing the same thing, intentional or not, but... The alpha glanced down at Stiles's pale face. Derek sighed.

As they entered the bedroom, Scott strode over and smoothed out the covers on his bed, allowing Derek to step forward and carefully lay down the unconscious teen. Stiles's body folded into the soft comforter as Scott untied his friend's converse with fumbling hands, setting the worn-out shoes down at the foot of the bed. Derek slipped his arms out from underneath the teen's back and knees and hesitated a moment, throwing a quick glance at Scott, who was opening his closet to grab blankets. Then he looked back to Stiles and cautiously placed a hand on his forehead. It was cool to the touch.

"He's cold," he said.

Scott said nothing. He came over and plopped down the pile of blankets on the bed. Derek observed Scott's stiff movements quizzically as he helped him spread a couple of the covers over Stiles. The werewolves straightened up once they were done, casting one more sad look at the unconscious form. He slept peacefully, his head cushioned in Scott's pillow.

"We should let him rest," said Scott curtly. His voice was hard and strained. Without another word he spun on his heels and made a beeline for the hallway, a puzzled Derek in tow.

"Scott," he said, following the other alpha out into the hallway. Scott ignored him and continued to stride forwards, picking up the pace.

"Scott, _stop_!"

Derek immediately caught up to him and grabbed his shoulder, spinning the werewolf around to meet his gaze, but Scott twisted away and lashed out, his face contorted with emotional pain.

"_Don't touch me_!" He snarled, teeth barred and eyes glittering with tears. He tried to squirm out of Derek's grip but the startled alpha just held him tighter.

"Scott, look at me," said the werewolf firmly. He dipped his head to try and meet Scott's eyes, but the younger alpha twisted his neck away, unwilling to show his face and vulnerability. He dug his claws into Derek's shoulder, making the older werewolf grunt in pain, but Derek refused to let go.

"_No_!" Said Scott through gritted teeth. Tears began spilling down his face, dripping onto Derek's hands. "I will _not_ look at you! And _don't_ tell me that everything is going to be okay because everything will_ not_ be okay, because my best friend is in there _dying_!"

And then Scott burst out sobbing. He stopped struggling and sagged against Derek, who stood there holding up his pack brother with a priceless expression of surprise. Scott wished he cared enough to lift his head and see it. Derek, who was completely caught off guard, awkwardly maneuvered the two of them to the ground. He sat there, arms still tentatively placed on Scott's shoulders, unsure of what to do. Scott had never cried in front of him; and now here he was, face buried in Derek's shirt, a sobbing mess.

At first Derek felt the urge to pull away (and to change his shirt). He was the pack leader; he needed to be strong and put people on their place when they challenged him or tried to get close. He needed to stay distant and keep up a cold front, because that was necessary to intimidating enemies and keeping his pack safe. There was no room in his position to show weakness or emotion...

But then he thought of Cora.

He thought of how loosing her rendered him into the same bawling, shaking, vulnerable mess Scott was right now. How much he needed someone to comfort him when he was on his hands and knees over her dead body, howling with anguish. And how that comfort was never provided for him…

But he would provide it for Scott.

Wordlessly Derek wrapped his arms around the kid he considered to be his brother, pressing him close against his chest in what could only be described as a wolf-hug.

Scott tensed a bit, not quite believing what was happening, but then relaxed and melted into the embrace. Derek rested his head on top of Scott's and closed his eyes as he listened to the gasping sobs quiet down and subside. After a few moments, Scott cautiously withdrew from Derek's hold, sniffling and embarrassed. The older alpha released him and the two sat back against the wall wordlessly, avoiding eye contact. A few moments went by.

"Sorry..." said Scott quietly. There was a crack in his whisper.

"Don't be."

Scott found the courage to turn his head and look at the other werewolf.

"Your shoulders..."

Derek looked down, noticing the ten dark blots of blood on his shirt where Scott had sunk his claws into the flesh.

"It's fine. They'll heal," he said.

The boys sat for a while until Derek shattered the silence.

"We're not going to lose him."

Scott looked at the alpha.

"We underestimated the Nogitsune today," Derek continued. "But next time, we know what to expect... And it doesn't know that we plan on biting it." He met Scott's eyes with the most determined gaze the younger werewolf had ever seen.

"We're going to save Stiles, Scott."

Scott stared at the piercing emerald eyes with his mouth slightly ajar. Never did he think Derek Hale could be so... _Caring_. The werewolf never broke his dark, brooding composure for _anyone_ under any circumstances... Until now, for him and Stiles. Scott didn't want to admit it, but he marveled over knowing that Derek actually cared for them, because despite how much he complained about the guy... He secretly looked up to him. He cared about Derek Hale, whose words had just filled him with a renewed sense of hope and determination.

"I know, Derek. We will."

* * *

Hey fanfiction-lovers! Hope you don't mind that I took a little detour from the Stiles-whump this chapter to dive into some bromancy-goodness between Scott and Derek ;) Thank you so much for the reviews! New chapters are currently in progress. Love, The Typewriter Girl.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles didn't wake up until six hours later, when it was almost 11:00pm. Derek and Scott had been taking turns keeping watch by his bedside, but both werewolves happened to be in the room when he finally roused.

* * *

The door opened with a soft click. Derek looked up from the book he was reading to see Scott poking his head in the room, glancing at Stiles like a little boy checking the mailbox for a letter from Santa Claus.

"He's still asleep," said Derek, returning to his book. "You still have fifteen minutes until your turn."

"I know, I came in to grab a jacket," said Scott, entering the room. He stopped when he caught sight of Derek, who was wearing thick, black-framed glasses.

"...You wear _glasses_?" He choked out, a smile playing on his lips. Derek looked so... _Underek_. The gruff alpha flicked his eyes up menacingly, daring him to laugh.

"Yes. Mention it again and you'll be strung from your intestines from the ceiling fan." He lowered his gaze and turned the page.

_Oooh, someone's touchy about their nerd-lenses_, Scott mused, hiding his smile as he turned towards his closet.

Just then a weak cough sounded from the bed, making the two werewolves snap their heads up towards the bed. Stiles was stirring slightly, a small moan escaping from his lips. Immediately the two rushed to his side.

"Stiles?" Scott got there first and placed a hand tentatively over his friend's arm. "Are you with me?"

Stiles's forehead acquired more and more creases as he slowly roused. He coughed again, screwing his eyes shut before falling back into the pillow slightly. He mumbled something incoherent that sounded like, "_damn, my head._"

"Stiles," said Scott more firmly. "Come on, buddy, open your eyes."

With great effort, Stiles wrenched his eyes open a crack and blinked groggily at the blurry faces in front of him.

"Scott... Der'k?" He slurred.

"Good, Stilinksi. You get a gold star," said Derek, rolling his eyes. He had never been so elated to see Stiles awake. Scott was so relieved that he didn't even bother shooting Derek a glare for his snide comment. Stiles clumsily wiggled a hand out from underneath the blankets and rubbed his face, eyes lazily swimming around the room confusedly.

"Wha... Oh." Suddenly it all came back to him. "How long was I out?"

"About six hours," replied Derek. "It's almost eleven o'clock."

Stiles took a breath and grimaced as a new throb of pain shot through his scull.

"Damn..." He breathed. His gaze wandered around the room before landing on Derek, squinting at him curiously.

"...You wear glasses?"

With horror Derek realized he had forgotten to take them off in his haste to reach the bedside. He quickly ripped the frames from his face, cursing himself for letting the kid see him looking like a complete dork.

"No, I like them... You don' look so scary..." said Stiles faintly, eyes slipping half mast, unfocused. Derek's eyebrows twitched as his mouth opened slightly in surprise. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Stiles, look at me," demanded Scott urgently, tapping his cheeks. "Don't fall asleep."

"Settle down,_ mom_. I'm not." Stiles blinked several times and tried to sit up to prove his point, wincing. The werewolves gently helped him scoot up and lean against the headboard, where he sat dazed until his head stopped spinning. Derek and Scott looked at him worriedly.

"Stiles," Scott said carefully. "After you passed out... The Nogitsune told us to come find it... It said you would know where to look," he finished, voice lifting up in question at the end. Stiles blinked a few times as he processed this information. _So it got away then_, he thought, heart sinking. Then he froze as the Nogitsune's words clicked with a memory.

"The school," he said.

"...The _school_?" Questioned Derek, exchanging a confused glance with Scott. Stiles took a shaky breath.

"Before I was... Possessed... Before everything else started going wrong, there was something that sort of... Started everything." He looked up at Scott and Derek, who were looking at him with wide, puzzled eyes. "I was in a classroom after school finishing a test, the teacher had left me the keys to lock up when I was done," he continued. "And when I got up to put it on his desk, "Come find me" was written on the board... It wasn't written there when I started."

Stiles's scared eyes met the stunned gazes of the werewolves. Scott reached out and took hold of Stiles's hand, which was shaking a little.

"Which classroom was it?" He asked. Stiles licked his lips.

"Room 108."

There was a pause before Derek spoke up.

"We have to go there... Now."

Scott looked at him incredulously. "_Now_? Have you _not_ noticed his condition?" He said, whipping his head towards Stiles. "He's not in any kind of shape to _stand up_ let alone go meet the Nogitsune!"

Derek's face was grim.

"I know he's not, Scott. But if we wait, he'll only get worse. It's now or never."

"Derek is right," said Stiles, speaking up. "I don't think I'm gonna last much longer if we don't..."

Scott opened his mouth to protest, but then took in his friend's appearance. Stiles had dark bruises under his eyes, which lacked their usual cinnamon sparkle. He was white as a sheet and the skin was stretched over his gaunt face like canvas on a wooden frame. Worst of all... He was starting to smell like a _corpse_.

"Alright," said Scott quiety, standing up to get Stiles's shoes. "Let's go."

Stiles smiled weakly. "Let's put this thing to bed once and for all this time, yeah?"

* * *

Getting Stiles out to the car was a challenge. The minute the werewolves pulled him into a standing position, the teen swayed and blacked out, eyes rolling into his scull.

"Shit, Stiles!" Gritted Scott. He and Derek struggled to keep their limp friend upright, tightening their grip around his waist. Stiles came around almost immediately.

"Mmnn..." He mumbled.

"You said you were ready, idiot!" Barked Derek. Stiles's little lapse in consciousness worried him. They weren't even two feet from the bed... _How were they going to make it to the school?_

"Sorry," Stiles breathed. His head was swimming and _damn,_ he was tired. "Didn't mean to... Sorry."

By the time they reached Scott's car, a sickly sheen of sweat covered Stiles's brow. He was shaking with exhaustion and the two werewolves were holding almost the entirety of his weight, which sagged between them.

"Stiles, Stiles we're here. We made it," panted Scott. He nudged his friend's head, which was drooping forward over his chest.

"Ohthankgod..." slurred Stiles. Black dots clouded his vision. The two alphas helped maneuver the skinny tangle of limbs into the backseat, where Scott climbed in next to him. They were then hit with a moment of panic when Stiles suddenly went limp, head lolling against his shoulder as his eyes rolled up slightly under half-closed lids. It didn't look like he was aware of his surroundings.

"Shit, wake him up!" Said Derek urgently as he slammed the door shut. He ran around and hopped in the driver's seat, igniting the engine as Scott tried desperately to rouse his friend. Scott desperately clutched Stiles's pale face in-between two trembling hands.

"Stiles? Stiles, Wake up. Wake _UP_! STILES!" He yelled as tears smarted his eyes. Stiles looked dead in his was half-lucid state, unresponsive and eyes stubbornly insistent on rolling upwards instead of meeting the gaze of his friend. _If he doesn't wake up, he _will_ be dead._

And then Scott brought his hand back and struck Stiles's face. Hard.

The sound of the slap rang out, making Derek look back in the rear view mirror in surprise as he floored the gas pedal. Stiles jerked into reality with a loud gasp, proceeding to choke and sputter as Scott leaned back and watched, face tight. His cheek stung as everything came into focus.

"What was _that_ for?!" Stiles grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut, and then suddenly his hand was ripped away from his cheek and two new less-gentle ones grabbed the sides of his face, jerking his head over in front of the very scared, very angry eyes of Scott McCall.

"_Don't you EVER do that again_!" He screamed, tears streaming down his face. "You looked _dead_! If you pass out again you _WILL_ be dead, Stiles! I can't lose you, I _CAN'T_! Do you _understand_?"

Stiles stared in shock at the the anguished face of his best friend. All exhaustion was forgotten as he gently reached up and folded his hands over Scott's, which were still painfully digging into his cheeks. The touch made Scott's wet eyes widen as he realized the vice-like grip he had on his friend. Suddenly embarrassed about his outburst and horrified at how rough he was with his friend, the alpha lessened his grip started to pull his hands away, but Stiles held on to them. With tears in his eyes, Stiles moved Scott's hands down to his shoulders and jumped forward, wrapping his arms around his best friend in a tight embrace.

Derek watched from the rear-view mirror, marveling at what he had just witnessed. The two were folded into each other in the back seat, arms wrapped tightly around one another like they were holding on for dear life. Their shoulders shook with silent sobs as they buried their heads in each other's necks, hiding from the outside world and the dire circumstances it presented. No words were exchanged, because none were needed. They already knew what the other wanted to say. A small part of Derek wished that he could share that level of affection with them... _If only he wasn't so afraid to show it._

All too soon, Derek pulled into the school parking lot. He glanced in the mirror again and saw the two locked in the same position, heads popping up and limbs untangling as the engine was turned off. The only thing that didn't separate was a pair of hands, which remained tightly entwined. He turned around, taking in the sight of the two teens, silently noticing how small they suddenly looked.

"Ready?"

The boys looked at each other, eyes filled with apprehension, pain, and affection. Stiles gave Scott's hand a squeeze and put on the bravest smile he could muster.

"Let's go trap a fox."

* * *

"Put me down, this is humiliating!" wheezed Stiles, weakly hitting Derek's chest.

"Unless you prefer to pass out again, I suggest you stop squirming and shut up," growled Derek.

The alphas had decided that Stiles should be carried into the school to avoid the risk of him exerting himself. Judging by his current state, they didn't know if Stiles would ever wake up if he lost consciousness again.

"You sure are stubbly, sourwolf," said Stiles, looking up at Derek through tired eyes. He wanted to reach up and feel it, but he figured that would probably result in getting his hand chomped off.

"And you're asking to be dropped on your ass," grumbled Derek.

Scott trailed behind them, smiling at their banter. He wondered if it would be the last time he would hear it.

Upon reaching the door of classroom 108, Derek gently set down Stiles on wobbly legs and hooked an arm around his waist to support him. There was a moment of silence as the three stood in solidarity, listening to the the cars driving by in the distance and the faint chirping of some faraway crickets. They took one last look at each other, knowing it could be the last time they were all together, _alive._

Then Scott stepped forward and opened the door.


	6. Chapter 6

The door swung open easily. It was unlocked, as if something knew they were coming. The boys cautiously entered the dark classroom, glancing around the cold space uneasily. It was the science room; clean beakers sat drying in trays next to upturned stools on the lab counters as the moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the faint marks of a leftover chemistry equation on the chalkboard. Upon reaching the center of the layout, the trio stood tensely in silence, gazes sweeping the seemingly-ordinary room.

"Congratulations, pups. You found me."

They froze as the voice echoed all around them, bouncing off the walls and digging into their spines like jagged icicles. Derek tightened his grip around Stiles's waist as the three whipped their heads around, trying to locate the demon.

"Show yourself!" Snarled Scott, claws extracted defensively.

And then it appeared in the familiar swell of black smoke, chuckling darkly as it materialized across the room.

"So, I see you got my little clue."

The Nogitsune grinned hungrily at Stiles, who had tightened his grasp on Derek's shoulder. The werewolf felt the slight tremors in the teen's hands through his shirt. The Nogitsune took a step forward, eyeing them like a predator stalking it's prey.

"Stay back!" Growled Scott, who moved in front of Stiles with his shoulders hunched defensively. The Nogitsune eyed the action pitifully.

"You think your little werewolf friends can protect you, Stiles?" It sneered. With a snap of it's fingers it dissipated in a cloud of smoke, reappearing without warning in front of Scott. Before the alpha could react, the Nogitsune struck the side of his face at lightning speed, it's supernatural strength sending him flying backwards before he crashed into a rack of beakers.

_"Scott!"_ Stiles yelped as the werewolf crashed to the ground in a shower of glass, grunting in pain. Derek roared fiercely at the demon as it continued to advance towards them.

"Your friends can't _TOUCH_ me!" It screamed, the muscles in it's neck popping out with the strain of the roar. "I am a thousand years old, _you can't kill ME_! You've brought them here to _DIE_!" The demon met Stiles's terrified eyes and grinned sadistically.

"_And I shall take great pleasure in killing them."_

Before it could make another move, Derek lashed forwards with claws outstretched, but the Nogitsune expected this. It twisted to the side in the nick of time and grabbed his arm in a flash, snapping it back with a sickening crack. The werewolf roared in pain as he spun around and swiped at the demon's throat, but his claws slashed through black smoke as another finger snap sounded. As quickly as it disappeared, the Nogitsune materialized behind Derek and landed a powerful blow to his back, slamming the werewolf to the ground.

Across the room Scott had gotten up and was charging towards the entity with fangs bared and a terrifying roar, but the demon spun around and shot a hand out, snatching his arm with incredible speed. In the blink of an eye the Nogistune swiveled around and threw the werewolf into wall, whipping around in time to grab the advancing Derek and do the same. The demon lunged forward and grabbed the alphas by the collars of their shirts and pinned them against the wall by their necks. The werewolves panicked as they tried desperately to free themselves, but their struggles were no match for the supernatural being.

"You see, Stiles?" it sneered, triumphant gaze locked on the faces of the two struggling alphas in front of him. "Your pathetic dogs are _weak_. Good thing I'm here to get rid of them for you." It grinned maliciously as it drank in their pained expressions. Derek and Scott gasped for air and dug their claws into it's arms, to no avail.

"Not if I kill myself."

The voice was eerily calm as it rang out across the room, slipping into every crack as it penetrated their ears. The werewolves saw a shadow of fear flicker in the eyes of the Nogitsune before it slowly turned it's head towards the speaker of the phrase.

Stiles was leaning shakily on one of the lab tables, gripping the edge for dear life. A grim seriousness shone through his exhausted eyes as the dim moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating his pale complexion. He held a small jar filled with tiny white grains.

"This," he wheezed, holding up the jar. "Is sodium hydroxide. If I swallow it, It'll kill me."

The room stilled. Derek and Scott stared wide-eyed at their friend, refusing to believe what he was suggesting. A look of fear passed over the Nogitsune's face for a split second before it twisted the expression into an ugly snarl.

"You're _lying,"_ it spat.

Stiles kept his gaze locked on the demon as he uncrewed the lid, wobbling a little. Derek and Scott could tell he was using every last bit of energy he had to stay upright.

"Do you want to take that risk?" Stiles asked. His voice was raw and serious.

"Stiles, _don't!"_ Gasped Scott, eyes pleading with his best friend. But Stiles kept his gaze locked on the stony face of his darker self, amber eyes hard and unwavering. The fox spirit kept his hands gripped around the two werewolves as it glared back. An ugly mix of hatred and uncertainty stormed in it's eyes.

"Let them go," Stiles breathed. "Or I take a taste test."

The tension in the room reached a deafening crescendo as the Nogitsune paused for what seemed like an eternity, rage-ridden eyes locked on Stiles as it gambled the outcomes.

But Stiles didn't risk waiting. With heavy eyes, he looked to Scott and Derek. Tears glistened on his lashes, the liquid incarnation of every precious memory and affection he had for his friends.

"I'm sorry... I love you both."

"STILES, _NO_!"

The werewolves screamed in unison as they watched as Stiles quickly tip back his head and tightly press the jar to his lips, emptying the contents into his mouth. The next few moments was a violent blur.

The Nogitsune let out an enraged and terrified scream as it released it's grip on the alphas, rushing forward to stop it's host, but the white substance had already disappeared down Stiles's throat. By the time the demon realized it's mistake, it was too late. Scott and Derek were on him in a flash, enraged and full of anguish as they tackled it to the floor and clamped down on its neck, delivering the bite that was supposed to save their friend.

Time stood still as the demon made a choking sound, face tensing as it's eyes bulged out of its head. Scott and Derek watched as tiny, spiderweb cracks broke out across the Nogitsune's face before it gave one last gurgling choke, shattering to the ground as it disintegrated into a pile of grey ash.

Scott and Derek knelt back, chests heaving as they whipped their heads to where their friend had swallowed the deadly chemical.

Stiles was still standing. He was staring at them through unfocused eyes, still holding the jar. For one incredible moment the two werewolves held their breath as they thought that maybe it had worked. Maybe it was all some kind of trick, that Stiles didn't really ingest anything and he was going to be okay after all. That they had really all made it out, _alive._

But then Stiles swayed. The jar slipped out of his hands and shattered on the floor.

_No._

Stiles fell forward, all tension leaving his body as his eyes closed and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

_"STILES!"_

Scott's scream was the most soul-twisting cry Derek had ever heard. It echoed throughout the cold walls of the lab, magnifying every cracked decibel of despair, pain, and love Scott released in it. It was the sound of a heart breaking.

The two scrambled to the still form on the ground. Scott's legs gave out as he got there, collapsing to his shaking hands and knees next to his best friend. He choked out broken, gasping sobs as Derek gently turned the body over.

Stiles was utterly still. He dark eyelashes rested on white cheeks, still wet from the tears that had spilled over when he uttered his last words. He finally looked at peace.

The boys sat and took in the form of their friend. Scott sobbed and reached a shaking hand to Stiles's head. He gently combed his hand through his friends hair.  
Derek battled with the painful pull he felt in his chest. He felt something wet on his cheeks and realized with a start that he was crying. It was then he realized that he had truly loved the kid all along.

Derek reached down and held Stiles's limp hand, not caring what Scott might think. Then suddenly the alpha tensed, eyes widening.

"Scott... He has a pulse."

Scott snapped his head up and looked at Derek, eyes wide and glistening with tears, silently pleading for it not to be a cruel joke. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a the sound of a weak voice below them.

"That's 'cuz I'm not dead."

The werewolves looked down and saw Stiles blinking up at them with tired eyes. He have them a tiny smile.

"Knew you guys could do it."

_"Stiles!"_

The alphas jumped forward and smothered the teen in a tangle of limbs, wrapping him up and drawing him close in a giant hug on the floor.

"Mmmf... Can't breathe, guys." Stiles's muffled voice was ignored as the two werewolves continued to squeeze him, beside themselves with relief and joy.

"How are you still alive?" Breathed Scott, releasing his friend and crouching over him on his hands and knees. His eyes drank in all the features of Stiles's face. All the beautifully_ animated_ features. Stiles grinned mischievously, droopy eyes skimming over his best friend's face.

"It wasn't really sodium hydroxide... It was just regular table salt. I used it in class last Thursday."

The two werewolves choked on their elation, laughs catching in their throats as they were overwhelmed with affection for their friend.

"Tasted like a bitch, though."

And then Derek swooped forward and threw his arms around Stiles, planting a small kiss on his forehead. The werewolf hugged him like Stiles was the most important thing in his life... In some ways, he was.

Stiles opened his mouth in surprise and blushed slightly before a bemused grin spread across his face.

"Love you too, sourwolf," he squeaked. He looked at Scott with dancing eyes, who gave him a knowing smile. The alpha hadn't seen the cinnamon irises so full of joy in a long time. And then Derek scooped up Stiles and stood up; this time the exhausted teen didn't complain as he hooked his arms around the werewolf's neck, still blushing from the forehead-peck he received. Scott rose as well and clapped a hand on Derek's shoulders, now confident that he could do so without the alpha flinching away. He smiled at his older brother, and for the first time, Derek smiled back at him.

"Let's go home."

* * *

Hi readers! :) Thanks so much for the reviews and for taking a peek at my first story! If you liked it, check out my other fics for more **bromancy, whumpy goodness** between our beloved Teen Wolf characters! Also, for all your fellow Hurt!Stiles fans, go to the "communities" tab on my profile to find the **Stiles Whump Collection!** Happy reading :) Love, The Typewriter Girl.


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